Let not deceit excite surprize,
For the whole world is one disguize.

In sober lays, in simple truth,
We'll fill our poem with Miss Ruth.
A Poet, if not void of spirit,
Will dip his pen in praise of merit;
Disperse the cloud that's in his way,
And give it a meridian day.

Ruth, from the cradle, which is common,
By aid of time became a woman.
Brown, strait, and clean, which we all prize,
But rather of a smallish size.
When Love, who knew his usual trade,
On her his soft approaches made;
For Richard, if her passion burns,
Richard knew how to make returns.
Her flame burnt bright, and with good-will;
His burnt a little brighter still.

Whatever envious tongues might say,
Their private acts would bear the day;
The strictest honour was her part,
For she lost nothing but her heart.
'A love like this could ne'er be blasted;
They're happy sure'--yes, while it lasted.

No antient maid in Nature's range
But knows that man is apt to change;
And if the rover once should stray,
He seldom after finds his way.

The words and kisses Richard bore
Were not so warm as heretofore.
Though he attends from day to day,
His fire began to die away.
His stay was shorter--cold the while--
He took his leave without a smile;
And, what she rather thought amiss,
Forgot to give the parting kiss.
He visits less--she's less admir'd;
The flame in fifteen months expir'd.

'What tortures rise! My treasure's gone
That which I've set my heart upon.
No equal left--the greatest cross!
The world can ne'er repair the loss!
A shock! My Richard from me torn!
Too great to bear--but must be borne.
From thoughts of love I'll now desist;
In me no more it shall exist.
For no temptation man can see
Shall ever take its rise from me.
No more shall he to love incline;
The female habit I'll resign
The male apparel I'll put on;
From hence assume the name of John;
Exonerate the mind of care;
Despise the sex whose dress I wear.'

Now John had left his gown at home,
And, by good luck, became a groom;
His duty did with all his power;
In time the bud will rise a flower;
For Johnny was a coachman made,
And drove the horses he had fed.
His love forgot, his fortune good,
Now master of the kitchen stood.

The maids, to Johnny, on their parts,
Were willing to resign their hearts.
But he, who knew his breast alone,
Found no room there but for his own.
What if they frown, and think amiss,
No more could do than toy and kiss.
He both performed to save his credit;
If a smart thing was said, he said it.
By the whole house this truth was known--
He won each heart, and kept his own.

THE SECOND PART

Our second part excites surprize--
A woman comes without disguise!

The 'Squire must now a journey go,
And John was order'd to put to.

Their stage was long--one inn was there,
Which only had one bed to spare.
This put the 'Squire in angry plight--
Says John, 'Sir, I'll sit up all night.'

'Then you'll take cold--it shall not be;
No, no, John, you shall sleep with me.'
Alarm'd--'Sir, I no evil know--
Chair, squab, or floor, for me will do.'
But all his rhetoric lost the field;
As servant he was bound to yield.

The Master now to bed was gone;
And, terrified, up stairs crept John.
Then to undress he set about;
But early put the candle out.
He was 'requested to lie still.'
Between the two there rose a hill;
Which rather dissipated fear--
'Four inches was a nice barrier.'
Who rested, snor'd, slept ill, or well,
The little coachman best could tell.

Rising betimes, the Master said,
'Why do you early leave the bed?
No glimpse of day appears to me.'
'Its time, Sir, I the horses see.'
Thus he came out as free from sin,
And good a maid as he went in.
What other 'Squire a night could pass,
And never touch so sweet a lass!
What lass could with a 'Squire lie still,
And give no items of her will!
The 'Squire was glad his bed to share;
And John that he'd escap'd a snare.

The Master would a hunting ride,
And John attended by his side.
What hedges, ditches, gates, they cover,
We'll wave, for they'll at night tell over.
It happen'd, which the Muse shall moan,
That, from his horse, poor John was thrown.
In this base fall was then descry'd
What he had ever wish'd to hide.

Now all his schemes were blasted quite,
And to success must bid good night.
Coach, whip, and harness, are laid by
The petticoat once more must try.

Thus Ruth, by one deceitful swain,
Turn'd future pleasure into pain.
From love her changes came about;
Forc'd into breeches and forc'd out.

Ladies, your hearts expos'd to man,
Perhaps may suffer by trepan.
Protect them with a watchful eye.
My tale is ended--so good bye.